In The End (Book 2): Before The End by Stevens GJ

Author:Stevens, GJ [Stevens, GJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombies
Published: 2019-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

54

Running down the stairs with tears streaming down my face, my shoulder slid across the wallpaper to keep me steady as I raced to the ground floor. Not able to slow without toppling, no arms to balance, all my hands could do was grip the gun. My upper arm took the force as I slammed hard into the thin toilet door, the hardboard cracking down the middle as it stopped my fall.

With an ache in my hand, I let my grip relax. Head darting left and right, I sought out shadows, but the only disturbances in the light were thin flashes through the remains of the front door’s glass to my side.

Twisting my wrists still held tight by the cuffs, I turned towards the back door and my bare feet found the pricking remains of the missing glass panel. Sucking up the pain I stepped with a light touch whilst trying to ignore the tacky suction of the floor.

Passing the sideboard whilst squinting under the stairs, looking for the trainers I’d been wearing or anything I could use to protect myself.

Seeing a rabble of disorganised shoes, I stopped and pushed my feet into a pair of white trainers which were way too big and slid on with no need for my hands.

Urgent but muffled calls came from upstairs and I looked to the back door, hesitating as I ran towards it searching its surface for some lock or a mechanism I could use to slow their return. I found nothing I could operate without my hands. I would have to hope the slowing gunfire had been enough to hide the call.

Contorting my hands around the side, I ignored the tension at my wrists as I tried the handle. I couldn’t stop the gun slapping and scratching against the metal.

It was locked. Still locked, I thought, as I remembered the last time I’d tried. The last time I was desperate to escape.

With my night vision improving, I looked to the wide windows at its side, shuffling along the dining table to follow. Not able to raise my hands high, I angled the handle of the old-fashioned window with my nose. It moved just enough for me to push it wide with my forehead, feeling the chill air wash over me. I used my foot to hook a chair from under the dining table. Its metal legs scraped across the tile floor, the loudest sound in the moment. My actions were no longer drowned by gunfire, my noise only competing with the footsteps above.

Teetering for balance on the frame, I toppled headfirst. My hands let go of the grip, the gun landing before my shoulder.

Thankful for grass under the window, I shook off the ache, pausing for the pain to dissipate. Taking a deep breath, I tried not to think what would have happened if it had been concrete under the window.

After the darkness inside, the outdoors glowed bright with moonlight.

Standing, the gun caught my eye. I dropped back to my knees

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